Newly Weds
by JuliansGIrl
Summary: Sydney and Sark are sent on a mission DOOMED to end in disaster...
1. Default Chapter

NEWLY WEDS  
  
A/N: In this fic Irina did not go into CIA custody. Sark has always been in her employ. Sark is still working for Derevko, and is also working for Sloane, as a double agent for 'The Man'. Syd is still a double agent. Sark knows that Syd is a double agent and Syd knows that Sark is a double agent but they both don't know that the other knows that they are a double agent. Confusing, huh? I'm going to say that this an AU fic, with Sarkney tendencies implied. Also Vaughn, Jack, and basically everyone else are portrayed as ninnies because they aren't the main characters. All characters belong to the mastermind, J.J. Abrams. Brilliant man.  
  
CHAPTER 1: Sydney Bristow was called into the conference room at SD-6. Her employer, Arvin Sloane, had called a meeting and she really didn't want to go. It was 7am on a Monday morning. *Who calls meetings this early? That man has NO conscious! But wait... he's evil, what did I expect?* Sydney thought as she made her way to the conference room.  
  
Upon entering the room, Sydney stopped and stared. There was nothing really wrong with the picture. Sloane, Dixon, her father, and Marshall were all there, but she could still not get used to the thought that Sark was cooperating with Sloane, therefore earning himself a place at the meetings. Syd composed herself, strode into the room and sat down in the seat furthest from Sark. She folded her hands on the table and waited for Sloane to start the meeting.  
  
"As you all know we've had our eye on Nikoli Dovjenskji. A man well known for his underhanded dealings with the Alliance, and suspected to be in collusion with Irina Derevko." At the mention of this name, Jack flinched ever so slightly. "We have received Intel that he is planning on meeting some contacts in Paris. We need you, Sydney, to go to Paris and gather information about what the meeting is regarding."  
  
Sydney forced herself to smile at Sloane. She really detested the man. She kept herself entertained during these meetings by thinking of all the ways she could kill him. Sloane continued on. "We are sending Sark in with you. You are posing as newlyweds on your Honeymoon."  
  
At this Sydney's eyes grew wide. She had to pose as Sark's wife? She had to pretend to love SARK? What was this new form of torture? She hazarded a glance at Sark down the table, but as ever, Sark's face was impassive. She began to wonder what his thoughts were on the mission but then stopped herself. Why was she caring what Sark thought?  
  
"How long will we be in Paris for?" Sydney hoped it wasn't to be a long mission. She didn't know if she could be civil to Sark for long. "You'll be in Paris for 24 hours. Dovjenskji should be finished his business in that time." Sloane stood and ended the meeting with, "You father will brief you on the details." With that Sloane left the conference room. *I really hate that man. And he's really... short. And bald.* Sydney's brain was not functioning well enough to come up with any worthy insults. Dixon left the conference room soon after Sloane, leaving Sydney, Jack, Sark and Marshall.  
  
Jack stood up and opened the folder he had in front of him. "So you are going to Paris, posing as upper crust English newlyweds. Your room has been reserved across the hall from Dovjenskji." Jack stopped talking to scowl menacingly at Sark. Sark, as always, showed no reaction. "You will dine in the hotel's restaurant, that is where he is meeting the first of his contacts. Marshall..."  
  
Marshall stood. "Hey. How you all doing?" He glanced at Sark, audibly gulped and nervously smoothed his tie. "Ok, so you are gathering information on this guy right? Well what is a better way to do that than take photos? But it would be too obvious just carrying around a camera right?" Marshall mimes holding up a camera. "Like, 'Oh sir? Do you mind if we just take a-a photo of you meeting with, like, top secret..." He trailed off to see the other three staring at him. "Oh, ok. Yes, so I developed this super cool camera instead. Neat, huh?" Syd, Sark and Jack looked expectantly at Marshall. There was no camera anywhere in sight. Marshall said, "Huh," and scratched his ear. Suddenly a picture of Sydney, Jack and Sark pops up on the screens in front of them. "You see? That's the best part. It's disguised as a button. This baby can take pictures from up to two hundred metres away and then transmit them to a satellite which then feeds them directly back to us here at SD-6. All the fun of-of holiday snaps without the price of developing." With that Marshall glanced around, and sat back into his chair with a 'plop'.  
  
Jack details them on the rest of the mission. "Any questions?" Sydney spoke up. "Yeah, why are we posing as English people? Is there a reason for that?" For the first time during the meeting, and possibly his whole life, a small smile lit Jack's face. "Yes. You are going in as an English couple because Sloane doubted that Sark would pull off any other accent convincingly." At this Sark spoke up, for the first time that day. "Won't it seem a little suspicious if we book in and out in the space of 24 hours? If we are truly posing as newlyweds, shouldn't we stay at least a week, so as not to arouse suspicion?" Jack glared daggers at Sark, but it was Sydney who spoke up. "Not if we say that we are just staying the night on the way to the Swiss Alps," she said with venom in her voice. The tension was rising in the room. "You have first class tickets booked to leave tomorrow at 1800," Jack said, effectively ending the meeting. Marshall near flew from the room, and away from Sark.  
  
Jack left the room, with all the fury of a bear with rabies, leaving Sydney and Sark to face off against each other. Surprisingly, Sark merely said, "Shall we meet here tomorrow at 1600, to get everything prepared?" Sydney, who was prepared for a fight, merely nodded glumly. It seemed that Sark did not want to fight. *Darn. I really wanted to yell at him today.* With a nod, Sark left the room, leaving Syd alone with her thoughts. 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN HONEYMOON?" Sydney was furiously trying to suppress the urge to beat Vaughn over the head with her handbag. "It's a cover. It's not an actual Honeymoon." She looked at him with an incredulous expression. "I know, but SARK? Why can't it be Dixon, or hell, even Marshall?" "It has to be believable. And Sark is a good agent, as much as I hate to admit it." Sydney was getting fed up with Vaughn's ill-concealed jealousy. She hated how they had all that sexual tension, but could never act on it. But as far as she could see, the threat of death just made it more exciting. *God, he is just so unadventurous. I bet he even irons his underwear,* Syd thought with a smirk. "So, what's my counter?"  
  
Vaughn took a deep breath, to compose himself. It just wouldn't do to let his jealousy cloud his professionalism. "All you need to do is get us copies of whatever information SD-6 gets." "Right, seems fairly simple. Is there anything else? I really need to go and pack. We're leaving tonight." Syd stood from where she had been sitting on a table and prepared to leave.  
  
Vaughn could not answer because of the thoughts running through his head. *We? She called them a we? When did they become close enough friends to become a we? She doesn't call us a we. Wait, this would be that jealousy thing again. This will not do. Stiff upper lip. Take a leaf from the British. British like Sark. Gaah! He just won't leave me alone will he? Just because he is all mysterious and suave with that accent, and those blue eyes that women just fall over themselves for...* "Vaughn!" The sound of Sydney's voice snapped him out of his inner- monologue. "Wha...?" "Is there anything else? Can I leave?" Sydney was looking worriedly at him, as if he was just about to loose his nut, and go screaming around the warehouse with his underpants on his head. "No, that's all." He cleared his throat and straightened his tie, in an attempt to appear professional and composed. "OK, well then I'll see you when we get back." Sydney turned and exited the building.  
  
*There's that bloody WE again!!* 


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3: Sydney had to stifle a giggle as she caught her and Sark's reflection in a large mirror on one side of the foyer. They looked so much like snooty English newlyweds. Sark was wearing a suit that must have cost at least $5000 and Sydney was wearing a white linen suit with a hat that is usually only seen at horseraces. But the funniest part was not the clothing. It was the possessive way Sark's arm was draped around her waist, and the way she was gazing adoringly into his eyes. There was no doubt about it. They were definitely turning heads.  
  
They approached the desk and a man with a rich French accent addressed them. "How may I be of service, Madam? Monsieur?" Sark, having cultured his accent to sound as blue-blooded as humanly possible answered, "Yes, thank you. My name is Spencer. Geoffrey Spencer. My wife and I have a reservation for one night." He cast an adoring glance to Sydney. Sydney took the hint.  
  
"Oh Geoff. That sounds positively wonderful," she simpered in an identical accent. "Your wife. I could hear that for the rest of my life." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And so you shall, my darling wife, so you shall."  
  
The desk-manager cleared his throat. "You've booked out the Honeymoon Suite for one night? That's an awfully short honeymoon I must say." "Yes, well we are only stopping here on our way to Switzerland. Daddy has given a perfectly adorable chateau in the Alps as a wedding gift," Sydney exclaimed. The manager smiled. "Very well. I shall show you to your room directly." He motioned for the bellboy to direct the 'Spencers' to their room. "Enjoy your stay." "Thank you, we shall," Sark replied. He and Syd then followed the bellboy to the elevators, making sure to keep the loving charade up until they were safely shut in their room. It was only then that Sydney realised the predicament that she was in.  
  
"Oh God!" Sydney exclaimed, all traces of the British accent gone. "What is it?" They had detangled themselves the moment the door had closed, so Sark turned and looked at her from where he had been admiring the view, amused to see what had brought about the change of mood. "Ok, do you want the bed or couch?" "What ARE you talking about?" Sark asked her. "I am not sleeping in a bed with you. Do you want the bed or the couch?" Sydney looked at him, awaiting his reply. "In case you haven't noticed, there is no couch. This is a Honeymoon Suite. Why would we need a couch?" He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She made a frustrated noise. "Fine, do you want the bed or the floor?" "I am not sleeping on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed available." Sark just looked at Sydney, inwardly laughing at how unravelled this conversation was making her. "Fine, I'll sleep on the floor. Geez, I thought all British men are supposed to be gentlemen," she groused. "A common misconception," Sark replied blandly.  
  
A knock on the door brought an end to the conversation. Sark moved to answer it. He had already removed his jacket as they entered the room, so he loosened his tie, undid a few buttons and rumpled his hair as he crossed the room. Sydney looked quizzically at him, not understanding his actions. He opened the door to reveal a room service waiter, bearing a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. "Compliments of the Hotel, to congratulate you on your marriage." "Thanks ever so," Sark replied, moving aside to let him in. The look Sydney had received brought realisation slamming down on her. She had also removed her jacket, and untucked her shirt upon entering the room. Her clothes were rumpled from the flight. *Oh GOD! He thinks that we've been... AAH! No! I would never... Not with Sark. He's evil!* Sydney kept herself in check until the waiter had been tipped, and left.  
  
"SARK! You made him think we'd been making out! As if I would ever make out with you." Sydney was enraged. "What were you thinking?" "I was thinking like a newly married man," Sark replied coolly. "And I also think, Agent Bristow, that you should put aside your dislike for me and remember that to all observers we ARE a married couple. And married couples have been known to show affection to each other."  
  
Sydney was silent. She knew he was right. But she couldn't get her head around the fact that she was supposed to be married to Sark. If it was anyone else, she could have done it with no hesitation. But there was always something about Sark that unsettled her. He always seemed to be able to see right through her. "Fine, whatever. But in here, we don't have to pretend. I can go back to hating you in peace." "Need I remind you, DEAR, that there are security camera's in every room. So we cannot give up the charade until we are safely back in Los Angeles, I'm afraid." Sydney looked dumbstruck. "Which also means, that despite your objections, we shall also have to share the bed." 


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4: "I believe we will start with the escargot. How does that sound, my darling?" Geoffrey Spencer took his wife tenderly by the hand and looked lovingly into her eyes. "Mmm, it sounds divine." Elizabeth smiled and her new husband leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. If anybody had been observing the couple with any care, they may have noticed the slight stiffening of the woman as her husband pressed a kiss to her lips. But the kiss was over as soon as it began.  
  
"Also, we shall have a bottle of the 1964 Cabernet Sauvignon." The man then turned all his attention to his young wife, effectively dismissing the waiter. "Oh my God. You could have at least given me some kind of warning before you go and do something like that." "Well, I would like to object. 1964 was a delightful year." He smirked at her. "I meant about kissing me." "Oh but, darling, you always tell me that I should be more spontaneous."  
  
She sighed, and then a grin grew on her face. "That I do. If you would excuse me, my love, I need to make a trip to the bathroom." As she stood, she leaned forward slightly, giving him a more than clear view down the top of her dress. She moved to his side of the table, gave him an excruciatingly brief but passionate kiss before moving languidly in the direction of the Ladies Room. She glanced over her shoulder to see him loosen his tie a fraction and take a gulp of water. She was pleased that she could also affect him like he could her.  
  
As she was finishing her business, Sydney heard Sark's voice in her earpiece. "Syd, get out her. Dovjenskji has just arrived." "On my way." She opened the door, and strutted back to where Sark was seated. She sat, and then reached out and caressed his cheek. "Did you miss me?" "Did you doubt that I wouldn't?" "Not for a second."  
  
The waiter interrupted their little romantic interlude by bringing over their food and wine. They sat back as the food was placed on the table and the wine was poured. Sark picked up a morsel on one of the forks provided and leaned over the table, feeding it to Sydney. She closed her eyes and made a noise of appreciation, reminding Sark of a cat being scratched behind the ears. "So where is he sitting?" Syd questioned him, as she prepared to feed him a portion in return. "Seven o'clock," he replied. He moved his hand up to scratch behind his ear, effectively snapping a photo of Dovjenskji.  
  
The meal progressed until Sydney and Sark were onto dessert. They were sharing the chef's special, Chocolate Soufflé with Mango Sauce. Just as the dessert was brought out, Sark muttered to Syd, "Dovjenskji's just gotten company." And sure enough, a tall blonde woman had just sat down at Dovjenskji's table. Sydney shifted her weight slightly, and reached out to touch Sark's face. "Oh Geoffrey, darling. Just look at your hair." She began to play with the hair that curled up behind his ear. Sark looked a bit shocked at Syd's sudden interest in keeping up the newlywed façade.  
  
"It's in dreadful need of a trim. I wish you had decided to get it cut before the wedding. Imagine how it will look in the photographs." Sark's eyes gleamed as he realised what Syd was playing at and he turned his head to place a kiss on the inside of Sydney's wrist. "I don't imagine anyone will be taking any notice of me in the photographs anyway. They will all be admiring how smashing you looked." "Oh Geoff." Syd smiled sweetly, then said under her breath, "They're leaving. He's taking her to his room. Don't need to know what they are planning to do there." 


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE: Sark looked in the direction that Dovjenskji was leaving, under the pretence of calling for the cheque. Syd and Sark did the newlywed act until Dovjenskji was well and truly out of the restaurant. Then Sark stood up and held out his hand to help his "wife" from her chair. After leaving the money for the cheque on the table, Mr and Mrs Geoffrey Spencer headed back to their suite.  
  
Syd pulled the key from her purse, slid the card into the lock and opened the door, leaving Sark to close the door behind him. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her stiletto heels. Sark took off his jacket and draped it carefully over one of the chairs. He then proceeded to pull out his laptop and start tinkering away. Syd stood up and crossed the room to close herself in the bathroom. She hadn't had the chance to examine the bathroom fully before dinner. She had Sark had started bickering, effectively making them late for dinner. Syd had only had time to splash water on her face and neck and change. She took the opportunity to make a full inspection while she was changing out of her dinner clothes.  
  
The room was impeccable, with black marble floors, and spotless glass everywhere. In the middle of the large room there was an absolutely huge Jacuzzi, sunken right into the floor. The shower was big enough for two, Sydney realised. She didn't want to think about the implications of that. She kept up her review. There were two fluffy white bathrobes hanging on the back of the door, and a vast assortment of shampoos and soaps in a basket near the sink. Sydney felt that she could almost live in the bathroom, it was that spectacular.  
  
Syd then realised the flaw in her plans. The zipper of her dress would be impossible for her to undo by herself. She cursed, in a VERY un-ladylike manner, and opened the bathroom door and strode over to where Sark was seated working away. He didn't even look up as she approached, she realised to her great annoyance.  
  
"Do you think I could have a little help, please?" At the sound of her voice he lifted his head, but did not stop typing or look away for another couple of seconds. But when he did, she saw the traces of a grin lurking on his lips. "Surely Sydney, a woman of your impressive talents would be capable of taking a shower by herself. But if you need help..." He started to rise from his chair. Syd put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back into it, none too lightly. "Look, I just need you to undo this stupid zip for me," Syd said, inwardly berating herself for letting herself get riled up at Sark's comments once again. At the mention of the zip, an entirely new expression flashed in Sark's eyes, one that Syd did not want to take a guess at. But he stood and waited for her to turn.  
  
She turned and pulled her long brown hair out of the way. What she didn't see was that Sark swallowed deeply before allowing his hands to reach out. He took the zip and drew it carefully down, eyes following its path. Before he knew it, Sark had uncovered a long strip of bare tanned skin. He felt the almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch her back, wanting to know if it was as warm and inviting as it looked. He shook his head, and placed the hand that had formerly held the zipper on her shoulder. "All done," he said. Syd noticed that there was the slightest of tremors in his voice. She half turned, and looked at him, gazing into the endless depths of his crystal blue eyes.  
  
Silence rang out in the Honeymoon Suite. The two occupants were entranced with each other. Sark found himself unconsciously drawn closer to Sydney. She did not move closer, but she did not move away either. There seemed to be a spell upon the two agents, one that the slightest of sounds would shatter. Sark began leaning closer to Sydney, wanting to taste her lips, to feel them under his own. Syd found herself leaning closer too, not seeming to care that she was mere millimetres from kissing Sark, a sworn enemy of the United States of America.  
  
A sharp ring broke the silence, and the spell. Syd snapped back and blinked, realising the noise was coming from her purse. *My cell phone,* she realised. As she moved to answer it, Sark rubbed a hand shakily over his face. He could not comprehend what had just happened. He had almost kissed Sydney Bristow. Sydney Bristow. If Jack had known what had just transpired, Sark realised, he would have a bullet in his brain faster than he could blink. That got Sark wondering who was calling Syd at this late hour. *It is most likely her father,* he realised, *wanting to go over the events of the mission so far.* Sark hoped, for both his and Sydney's sakes, that she could keep the events of the evening from him. He didn't particularly relish the thought of a bullet to the brain.  
  
Syd answered her phone. It wasn't her father, as she was dreading. It was infinitesimally worse. It was Vaughn. 


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX: She took the cell and strode into the bathroom, closing the door after her. "Just wanted to see what you were up to. See if you were having fun in Paris. I could recommend a few things to do if you're bored," Vaughn said in a conversational tone. Sydney's grip on the phone tightened to the point where she was almost crushing the phone in her fist. *He's calling for a chat? A chat? If we both survive this phone call, I'm going to kill him!* she fumed to herself. "What are you doing? Are you insane? Are you trying to get me killed?" Syd was angry. Vaughn had, by calling, placed her in the gravest of dangers. "I thought you might be bored, having to spend time with Sark, is all."  
  
"You called to see if I was bored?" Sarcasm and distain dripped from her voice. She didn't like to talk to anyone like this, least of all Vaughn, but sometimes he could he such a numbskull. "Yeah...?" He didn't sound as confident as he had when he first spoke. "Vaughn, I'm going to say this very slowly and clearly, because obviously you didn't get the message when we met. I. AM. NOT. HERE. ON. A. VACATION. I am here on a mission. I have work I need to do. You calling me was the most idiotic thing you could have done. You do remember that Sark is in the very next room." Sydney took a breath to continue her scolding when he butted in. "Sark is in your room? Since when?"  
  
Sydney couldn't take it anymore. She hung up on Vaughn and turned her cell off, to prevent him from calling again. She was livid. Did he realise that his jealousy could get them both killed? She realised that she was starting to have second thoughts about Vaughn. Sure, the man was drop dead gorgeous, especially when he did that forehead wrinkle thing. He also had a body to die for. But the man had the personality of a wet blanket. Syd took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.  
  
Sark looked up from where he had resumed typing. He watched Sydney walk over to her luggage and tuck her phone among her clothing. Suddenly a light went on in his head. He watched Syd start her way back to the bathroom before he spoke out. "So, what did Agent Vaughn want?" 


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN: Sydney froze, like a deer in the headlights. Sark knew about Vaughn? This could not possibly end well. Sydney's brain went into overdrive as she turned to face Sark, assessing the room, trying to figure out a way to escape when he started shooting at her. But as she caught sight of Sark, he was not standing OR aiming a gun at her as she had expected. He was still sitting calmly at his computer, looking patiently at her for an answer.  
  
Syd panicked. *Oh God. What do I say? What do I do?* For the first time since was a little girl, Syd wished her Daddy was there to fix the problem for her. He always knew exactly what to do to make things better. *If I get out of this, I will never ignore his advice again,* Syd thought desperately. *And I'll tell him how much I love him.*  
  
All through Syd's inner monologue, Sark sat contemplating his action. He was thinking that maybe it hadn't been the best of plans to reveal his knowledge of Sydney's CIA handler. But it was too late to take it back so he would just have do try and turn the situation in his favour. "Sydney?" he asked again, snapping her out of her panic. "How do you know about Vaughn?" she snapped at him, and then mentally kicked herself. She didn't mean to blurt that out, but it was the first thing that had come into her head. Sark had this way of scrambling her thoughts and making her say things she didn't mean to reveal. "It's my job to know." Sark was kind of confused. Why had she admitted to knowing Agent Vaughn. She must have realised that Sark now had reason to kill her, or report her to Sloane and let him deal with it.  
  
His answer aggravated Sydney. Who did he think he was? Her babysitter. Sydney said haughtily, "Yeah? Well it's MY job to tell you to butt out!" And with that she flounced into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Then she called through the door, "And I'm officially not talking to you anymore." That caused Sark to crack a full-blown grin, a very rare occurrence for him.  
  
He stood up from his computer and crossed the room to the bed. He untucked his shirt and removed his belt. He then sat down on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes, lining them up neatly. He scooted backwards, and settled himself, comfortable stretching out on the bed. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and linked his hands behind his head, to wait for Sydney to emerge from the bathroom. 


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT:**

Sydney had forgotten the art of breathing. Holed up in the bathroom from heaven, she was too afraid for her life to realise that if she didn't start breathing again, and soon, she would have no life to fear for. Hearing Sark stop moving around in the other room made Syd suck in a huge breath of air. There was only two reasons that she could think of that would explain the lack of movement. Either Sark had given up on waiting for her and had gone to sleep, or he was patiently lying in wait, like a predator in the jungle, for her to open the door so he could shoot her in the head.

Thinking of Sark as a jungle predator made Sydney burst into a fit of nervous giggles. She had the mental image of a panther or some such jungle cat hiding in their luxurious hotel suite with a gun. Stop it! she mentally chided herself, taking deep, even breaths to stop the hysterics. This is no time to fall to pieces. She weighed up her options. He was asleep, or waiting to kill her. She seriously hoped it was the first.

She decided to wait it out a bit longer. She glanced around the bathroom, looking for something to occupy her, and her eyes finally came to rest on the massive shower. Well, this is the room people come to get clean in, Sydney thought to herself. I might as well appreciate the facilities. And the moment she stepped into the hot spray, she began to feel better about her predicament. Ok, he knows that I'm a double agent. But he doesn't know that I know HE'S a double agent. I can definitely play this to my advantage.

Breaking the seals on the expensive shampoo and conditioner supplied, Sydney tried to formulate an escape plan, in the event that Sark tried to kill her. The bedroom had huge French doors leading to the balcony. No good. Not a swimming pool in sight, and I don't have my rappelling gear handy. The bathroom had a fairly sizeable window, but for the interests of privacy, it had been closed up with glass bricks. She could see the faint haze of Paris at night, but she couldn't escape through it. She also couldn't escape through the door because she was on the wrong side of the room. If he was lying in wait for her, she was going to have to fight her way out. And she had forgotten to bring a change of clothes in to the bathroom with her.

Dragging on the luxurious white bathrobe, having finished her shower, Sydney looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a hint of trepidation in her expression. But when she left the bathroom, her expression was cool and distant. Trying very hard to pretend she didn't care what Sark was doing, Sydney strained, until it hurt, to see him out of the corner of her eyes. She could vaguely see him lying stretched out on the bed. Whether he was asleep or not, she couldn't tell. But it didn't look like he was pointing a gun at her, so she figured she would be ok… for now.

Pointedly ignoring him, Sydney opened her suitcase and pulled out clean underwear, the pyjama pants and singlet top she was planning on sleeping in. As she crossed the room she tried again to see whether or not Sark was asleep. She couldn't tell. Sydney tried to keep her breathing rate even, but she could hear her heart beat so loudly she was surprised the people in the Sudan weren't calling to complain about the noise. The trip from her suitcase to the bathroom seemed to be taking longer than it did the first time. Maybe that was because she had her back to him, and any second he could appear beside her and plunge a knife into her back. As she opened the bathroom door, she expelled a silent sigh of relief. Nothing. He hadn't moved, and she was still alive. I may just make it through the night, she thought to herself. But it was as she was closing the door that Sark revealed his deadliest weapon of all. His voice.

"So… you're in love with him. What an awkward situation for you."


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE:**

His words stopped her in her tracks. How could he possible know about that? Not even Vaughn knew that. Was he tuned into Sydney-FM Radio or something? Could he read her mind?

"No Sydney, I can't read minds. My grandmother on my fathers was rumoured to tell the future but that is another story."

Sydney just stared at him, dumfounded. Did I say that out loud?

"No, I assure you. You didn't speak a word." That was the straw that broke the camels back for Sydney. She let out an aggravated scream and unleashed her anger on Sark. She started to kick and punch him, knocking him down and pummelling him in to a bloody pulp. When she was finished, Sark was nothing more than a whimpering blob on the plush carpet.

By the time Sydney snapped herself out of the daydream Sark had moved and was sitting on the end of the bed, looking amused. Instantly she knew that he knew every thought she had just had. But how?

"Dear Sydney, your emotions are written all over your face. A casual observer would not realise, but someone who is as practised as me at scrutinizing has no trouble in recognising your feelings."

Once again, dumbfounded Sydney has nothing to say to that. My God, with all that I'm not saying right now I could be a mime! she thought, self-deprecatingly. Just as Sark opened his mouth to retort again, Sydney burst in quickly.

"If you speak, I'll pummel you in to the next century."

"Well, well. It seems that you must be speaking to me again."

Sydney gave him the death-glare to shame all death-glares. If looks could kill, Sark would have been dead for the last two hundred and fifty years. So, for possibly the first time in his life, Sark kept his mouth shut, leaving Sydney to retreat back into the bathroom, clean clothes in tow. He told himself it had nothing to do with the fact that he almost kissed her that night, and all to do with the fact that he was playing tactically, leaving the comments for where they would do the most damage. Definitely nothing to do with the kissing thing. And just to prove his point, if only to himself, he strode to the mini-bar and poured himself a large glass of single-malt whisky. A VERY large glass.

By the time she had re-emerged from the bathroom, Sark was back in front of his laptop, cool expression in tact. He seemingly ignored her walk to tuck clothes into her suitcase, and ignored her when she hopped up on to the large bed. She curled up with a pillow, which he cared NOTHING about, and started to doze off, until his voice cut through her daze.

"Dovjenskji's on the move again," he said curtly, moving to put his shoes back on and straighten his couture out, and to grab a thick coat to put over the top.

"Hmmm? How do you know?" Her voice was all thick and sleepy. It took Sark a lot of effort to not care that he woke her up. He turned and looked at her. She had opened her eyes, but made no move to get off the bed, or into clothes.

"Earlier today, I made the decision to plant a tracking device on him." Sark had finished dressing, and was now standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at her nonchalantly. "So are you going to come with me and do your job, or shall I go alone and get all the praise?" Sark raised a mocking eyebrow at her, causing her to drag herself off the bed, and shuffle to her suitcase. She grabbed clothes, entered the bathroom for the zillionth time, and returned holding her pyjamas in a bundle.

She had changed into some warm, slim-fit, grey pants, a red turtleneck and a mid length tweed jacket. All in all, She looked perfect. At least to Sark anyway. And it's not like he was going to admit it any time soon. So he managed to glance unenthusiastically in her direction.

"We better go before we lose him."


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN:**

The breeze was bitterly cold. The weather forecaster had predicted snow for later that evening, and of course, Dovjenskji was wandering the streets of Paris. Sydney was finding it very hard to act like a loving new wife when her whole face was numb. But of course, Sydney was a professional, and did her job very well. It also didn't hurt that she was standing very close and slightly behind Sark, using him as a wind block and letting him get the full brunt of the cruel wind. Ahh, the benefits of marriage, she thought sarcastically to herself.

Meanwhile, Sark was on RedAlert!Mode, keeping track of Dovjenskji's every move. He found that being on full alert was a fairly effective way blocking out Sydney's presence. Almost. He could still feel her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, and the way she pressed herself to him. He was somewhat pleased that she had gotten her act together, and had her mind back on the mission. Because if her mind was on the mission, it couldn't be on that pillock, Agent Vaughn. Not that I care, he had to remind himself.

Suddenly Sark pulled Sydney over to admire something a store window. She looked up inquisitively at him, and as he was pointing to something in the display he moved behind her and whispered in her ear.

"He's just met up with Viktor Karenin, another top ranking Alliance member. This looks like a promising lead." They both watched in the reflection as the two men stood and chatted for a few minutes, before boarding a double-decker bus that pulled up along side them. Sark met Sydney's eyes in the window.

"Ready to role play?"

They turned from the window, and pretending to spot the bus, hurried over and boarded. Scanning the lower deck Sydney turned to Sark and spoke in her 'Elizabeth Spencer' voice.

"Geoffrey, darling, let's sit up on top. I want to be able to see the city better." Not waiting for a reply, Sydney made her way up the narrow staircase, leaving Sark to follow behind. Which was a very bad decision, all things considered. Sydney going first, made Sark have to go second, obvious enough, but what she didn't count on was how close it made her butt to Sark's eye level. And her fashionable pants allowed him a very good view. And he took full advantage of the situation. This is definitely the last time I look at her like this, Sark mentally told himself.

"Geoff, honey?" Sydney looked tenderly at Sark.

Oh yeah, except for this.

Sydney had reached the top of the stairs and looked back towards Sark.

"Where should we sit, honey?" Sydney was playing the role of 'easily-led, rich bimbo' to perfection.

"Where ever you choose, my darling. I want you to be happy." Sark could see Dovjenskji giving Sydney the appreciative once-over. Sark countered by seating himself close to Sydney, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and pulling her close as if to keep her warm. I bet he change his mind, Sark thought, smugly, if he knew that she could knock him unconscious in less time than it takes to ask her name.

The seat Sydney had chosen was two behind where Dovjenskji and Karenin had sat. They were both sitting forward, Karenin with a briefcase in his lap. Nothing really pointed them out as suspicious, but Sydney noticed that neither man was looking at the scenery. Syd and Sark played married couples for a while, exclaiming over landmarks and speaking sweet nothings to each other, all the while watching the two men. They had their heads together and were talking in low voices. Suddenly Sydney exclaimed, "This wind is making my lips chapped!" and promptly began to rummage in her pockets, finally producing a stick of lip-gloss. She took an exorbitant amount of time to apply said lip-gloss and finally replaced deep into her pocket. Sark looked questioningly at her, and she leaned in and breathed into his ear, "Hidden microphone, records sounds from up to 630 metres away in perfect definition. Whatever those guys are talking about, we'll know."

The rest of the trip was uneventful, with Sydney pulling out the lip-gloss microphone a few more times, and with Sark pointing out pieces of Paris at night. Syd was well relaxed, leaning into the warmth of Sark and enjoying the journey. As the bus pulled to a jerky stop, breaching Sydney's comfortable travel haze. She snapped upright as she realised just how 'all-over' Sark she was sitting. She got up and began to follow the two men off the bus, not realising that in her panic she was starting to look very suspicious. When the two men stepped off the bus, Sydney couldn't have been more than fifty centimetres behind them, and in her haste she misjudged the last step off the bus and began to fall.

An arm snaked quickly around her waist, preventing her headlong fall into the pavement. She was lifted from the step and replaced on the sidewalk. Sydney was turned toward her rescuer, only to see it was Sark staring at her with a concerned expression.

"Baby, are you ok?" Sydney realised that the two men they were supposed to be secretly surveilling were staring at the two of them. Sydney took a shaky breath.

"I'm fine, I must have turned my ankle." She had almost forgotten to speak with her accent. Fortunately she didn't, or it would have blown their cover. "Luckily you were there to save me."

"That's what I'm here for, your knight in shining armour."

Dovjenskji and Karenin were still staring at them suspiciously, so Sark did the only thing he could think of. It was something that he had been wanting, and dreading, all night.

He kissed her.

She did the only thing she could think of.

She kissed him back.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: **

Time stopped. All colours faded into the peripheral. Noise ceased to register. All that existed in the world was the person in front of her. His arms, crushing her to him. His breath, fanning hotly on her cheek. His lips. And as soon as it started, it ended.

He pulled away, and gazed deeply into her eyes. It was only for a mere second, but she felt as if he could see her entire being. Then the moment was over. He stepped away, and took her hand and started to lead her away.

"I'd better be getting you inside, before you catch your death of cold. It's snowing, you know." Sydney looked up. She hadn't felt the snow start. So she looked up towards the sky, watching the snowflakes materialize out of the blackness, just a few feet above her head, and fall gently to the ground. When she glanced back at Sark, she saw he was watching her. She started to blush as she watched him watching her, seeing an undeterminable emotion flicker across his features. He squeezed her hand, and she allowed him to lead her.

A block or so down the track, Syd turned to look questioningly at the man leading her. He smiled down at her and whispered, "They went straight back to the hotel. As we got off, I managed to plant a bug. We're off the hook for the night." And with that, he picked up the pace, and it was all she could do to follow behind, her hand tucked warmly in the crook of his arm.

As they passed the doorman to their hotel, Sydney was no less confused about the events of the evening than she was as they first started to unfold. But she played the part of loving wife, and snuggled into Sark as they passed the night staff in the lobby. And Sark, being the loving husband, dropped a warm kiss on the crown of her head, which just served to confuse Sydney that little bit more. Where was the cool, cocky boy-assassin she knew so well? Sydney reasoned to herself that this must not be Sark at all, but it really was Geoffrey Spencer. And if that was the case, Syd could only dream that one day she would really become Elizabeth. But there was no time to must on that, because they had reached their hotel room door, and Sark was reaching for the key.

Getting back into the room, the first thing Sydney did was break away from Sark's side. She immediately regretted her action, missing the warmth of his body next to hers. Oh, get a grip, she thought to herself, the room is heated! But she knew, deep inside that being the cold wasn't the reason she had the regret. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see Sark taking his coat and shoes off, doing the usual things one would do when preparing to settle in for the night. But seeing him actually do these things caused her to stare. When Sark caught the direction of her gaze, he gave a little smirk, a glimmer of his usual self, and said, "What? Never seen a man undress before?"

This caused Syd to snap out of her trance, blush, and once again seek refuge in the spacious bathroom. Sark let out a little chuckle as he heard the door click shut.

By the time Sydney emerged from her bathroom sanctuary, Sark was dressed only in long, black silk pyjama pants, lying curled on his side on the bed, seemingly asleep. Sydney tiptoed over to her suitcase to pull out the pyjama shorts and singlet top that she had changed out of just a few short hours ago. Maybe this time I may even get to sleep before I have to change again, she thought wryly to herself. Then she looked at the bed, and realised that it was sleep there, or blow their cover. And that put the break on her inner-musings.

As she stared at the bed, deciding whether it would be worth it to break their cover, a voice sliced through the silence.

"So you finally decided to leave the bathroom. I thought you would stay in there indefinitely this time." Sark opened his eyes and rolled to face Syd. He reached back and tucked his hands behind his head, giving her a good look at the breadth of his naked chest. She realised she was in a position between a rock and a hard place, and so continued to stand dumbfounded; staring at Sark, who was so comfortable sprawled out the bed. At length, Sark rolled back onto his side, closed his eyes, and said to Sydney, "Oh for god's sake, just come to bed. Tomorrow will be a horrible day otherwise." And with that he switched the lamp off, and bathed the room in darkness.

Sark felt Sydney let out an annoyed sigh, and felt her weight sink down her half of the bed. He had to force himself not to roll over to face her, and mentally chided himself for letting his emotions show around her. Come to bed, indeed, he berated himself. Couldn't I have said, 'Get some sleep' instead? He forcibly stopped his mental ramblings and started to fall asleep, only to shut out the voices in his head.

Sydney was also musing on what Sark has said. In fact, she was just musing on Sark in general. His actions that day, and night, had been radically out of the ordinary, and taking in to account that he was playing a part, Sydney thought that there was something deeper going on. And knowing Sark, as she thought she did, she was convinced that it would result in something horrible happening to her. And as much as she didn't want that to happen, she had to know what was going on. And so she steeled her courage, turned to face him and said softly, "Sark?"

He was half asleep when her question came, and he made a small noise and turned to see what she wanted. What he hadn't realised was that she had turned to face him as well. They were face-to-face, inches apart. His sleep-addled brain registered 'girl' and so he slung an arm around her, pulled her to his chest and drifted off to sleep again. Sydney had her face buried in the crook of his neck, and was chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh, with this enemy of the country, and of the CIA.

Crap!

A/N: I couldn't get the quotation marks around the thoughts to work, so you guys will just have to imagine them there. Sorry for the inconvenience!


	12. Chapter 12

I'd like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to PandaPjays who was very helpful in getting this chapter out to you all. How you ask? She told me to hurry my butt up.

Hope you all enjoy.

**CHAPTER TWELVE:**

As she lay there fretting about having so much of her bare skin pressed to the brash, arrogant assassin next to her, Sydney came to the realisation that while it was an unexpected move from her companion, it wasn't completely unwelcome. And that disturbed her more than her close proximity to her long time nemesis. But she couldn't deny that the smell of his skin, and the warmth of his touch were pullingher towards sleep. He smelled like fresh laundry, and vanilla with a hint of spice. Syd gave up to the sensations, forgetting about the mission, forgetting about her father, and DEFINITELY forgetting about that whinging sack of wrinkles, sometimes known as Vaughn. She gave up the notions of right and wrong, curling her body in closer to the arms that held her so gently and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

What Sydney had failed to realise was that Sark was not quite as asleep as she thought. No, he was still in the realm of the conscious, content to have the feel of Sydney in his arms. He buried his face in her warm, caramel coloured hair. For as long as he had known Sydney Bristow, Sark had been fascinated by her hair. So often for her work, she wore a rainbow of wigs, covering her natural colour and disguising her identity. So when she wasn't on a mission her hair was usually left out, flowing naturally out around her shoulders. And the way it shone in the light taunted Sark, daring him to bury his fingers in its silky softness. So now, with it literally right under his nose, he found that he had no resistance to it. He stroked his fingered over the strands, so elegantly dishevelled in her sleep. He breathed in its earthy scent; it smelled like cinnamon and jasmine. He brushed his lips on the crown of her head, and then held his breath as she murmured, fearing that he had woken her up. But instead she muttered to her self and, pressing a small kiss to his shoulder, she burrowed closer to his warmth. And loath as he was to admit it, he enjoyed her closeness. He breathed a sigh of contentment and gave himself over fully to sleep.

Upon waking, Sydney Bristow gave a long, leisurely stretch before laying her head down on the muscled chest she had been using as a pillow. Her eyes had just started to flutter closed again when she realised that her choice of cushion was attached to her mortal enemy. One Mr Julian Sark. Moving very slowly, so as not to wake him, Syd moved her head off his chest, back onto her own pillow. Then she realised that the rest of her body was currently entwined with his, and so the extraction operation would take a little more effort than first suspected. Her first mode of attack was to remove her leg from its captivity between the both of Sark's. Then it was to extract her body from lying flush against his own, held there by one of his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. His other hand was holding a fistful of her hair, and was proving by far the most difficult to remove. Now all of this had to be done simultaneously, while trying not to wake the other occupant of the bed.

Sydney finally squirmed free, and believed herself to be free until Sark, seemingly sensing his abandonment, rolled over and grabbed Syd, pulling her back into a spooning position. She let out a grimace of frustration at the thought of having to start her plight for freedom all over again. Then Sark, clenching a fist around the front of her singlet top, buried his face in her neck and grunted, "Too early."

Sydney stopped breathing. She didn't think that she could live with the embarrassment of Sark waking up to their current position. And so she waited, hoping that he would fall back into a proper sleep and allow her to make her getaway. Then she started the process again. Just as her freedom was in sight, Sark spoke, his voice a warm, rumble on her back.

"Leaving so soon, Sydney?"

She rolled quickly to face him, and found herself looking into sleepy, cerulean eyes. Syd shot him an accusatory glare as she scrambled off the bed.

"How long have you been awake?" she whispered angrily, more to herself than to him. He gave a slow, lazy grin that, despite all her better sensibilities, made Sydney's nerves flutter.

"Oh, I've been awake for awhile," he replied. "Long before you stirred." She shot him an angry look, before grabbing her fluffy, white bathrobe of the previous night, and storming to the bathroom, once again. She was starting to regard the bathroom as her sanctuary. A place to escape all the arrogance and quirks that were Sark. She expelled a short, frustrated, burst of air and then moved to turn the shower's taps on to almost full hot water.

As steam started to billow from the cubicle, Syd closed her eyes and prayed that all her stress and anxiety would dissipate, and she would be able to see out the rest of the mission with as little fuss as possible. Yeah right, she thought to herself, before shedding her pyjamas and moving under the cleansing spray. The hot water was like a balm for her spirit and within seconds she felt the most relaxed she had in the past twenty-four hours. She closed her eyes, feeling the water over her, and to her surprise, an image of Sark sprang to her mind. She imagined what he was doing in the other room, was he still stretched out on the bed, as if he owned it? She pictured him sprawled on his back, the sheet tangled around his legs, his bare, muscular chest being tinted with gold as morning's first rays crept into the room. One strong arm tucked behind his head, the other resting carelessly on his stomach, toned and hard as rock. He gave the impression of being carved of marble, his body hard as rock. Yet Sydney knew that it was warm, and surprisingly giving.

Then her daydream merged into memory, as she remembered the way it felt to be curled into his side, arms wrapped around her protectively. She remembered his warmth, and the way his muscles tensed and shifted as he slept. She remembered that he was also surprisingly considerate while asleep, not hogging the covers as a certain dim-witted CIA agent was wont to do. But mostly, she remembered the way his body felt next to hers, and how he seemed to fit there, as if it was right that they stay like that. Sydney pictured the man in the next room, as he was when she left him there. How he was clad only in those black, silk pyjama bottoms, leaving his chest and feet bare. His sexy, bed-tousled hair, that oh-so-kissable mouth, set in a soft smile of slumber. Those lips, that only hours ago were pressed against her own, hot and demanding. Those lips.

**BANG! **Syd was shocked out of her daydreams to see the bathroom door go flying open. Her hand shot out to grab her towel to cover herself, as a wild-eyed Sark burst into the room toting a gun. Which was cocked.

And aimed straight at her.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN:**

Syd stood frozen to the spot, towel pressed to her chest in fear. She was naked, with only a towel to protect her modesty, looking down the barrel of a gun, and for once, she felt full and absorbing fear. Never before had a mission gotten so out of hand. Sure Sark had shown her the business end of a weapon before, but never had she seen that crazed glint in his eye. Never before had she seen him this out of control. Her partner had turned on her and she was paralysed; put plainly, she was scared shitless. And she had never felt that before. Not to this degree. But however scared she was she was not ready for what was to happen next.

"WHAT THE HELL, SYDNEY?" Sark yelled, voiced amplified and echoing throughout the enclosed space. The sound seemed to bounce off all the surfaces and then continue their journey down her ear canal. She flinched, waiting for the bullet that would put her out of her misery, or at least into intense physiological pain. Instead he fliched the hammer of the gun back to the neutral position, and flicking the safety on, lowered the gun, dropping it to the tiles. He then ran a shaky hand through his already dishevelled hair, and sank to take a seat on the edge of the Jacuzzi, head bowed and arms dangling between his knees. He flicked his eyes back up to see her bewilderment, and with a wry grin he said, "You really scared the shit out of me, you know that?" That caused Sydney to see red.

She fixed him with a deathly glare, the one that her father was renowned for using, reducing hardened, psychotic criminals to pissing themselves in fright. "I scared the shit out of you? I scared the shit out of YOU?" She wrapped the towel tightly around her, and made her way to grab her bathrobe to cover herself properly.

"Jesus Christ, Sark, do you even live in this reality? You burst in on me, nakedin the shower, withguns a' blazing, and you say I scared you? I thought you wer egoing to kill me. What is your goddamn issue?" Sark looked up as if he was going to reply, but Syd waved a hand to shut him up.

"Save it. I don't even want to know. All I want is for this mission to be over so I can go home and get as far away from you and your lunacy as humanly possible." She stormed out of the bathroom, dripping water all over the plush carpet and began to throw items angrily in the direction of her suitcase. Sark followed her out, confusion marring his angelic features.

"Syd, I-" She whirled around, eyes blazing, a stiletto heel grasped in her hand like a makeshift weapon.

"I said don't. I mean, pretending to be your wife is difficult enough without you bursting in on me naked, and then trying to shoot me. I can't even fathom to think what you were trying to accomplish, but I am NOT amused.So not amused, in fact, thatif you so much as even breathe too heavily in my direction, I swear to God I won't be held accountable for my actions." She looked at him with so much malice and loathing, it was hard to believe that this was the same woman that lay sleeping peacefully in his arms earlier that morning.

"If you would just let me explain." He was on the verge of begging, something that he never did. He was so confused as to why shewas having this violent reaction to what hadhappened. He reached up ahand toward her, attemtping an explaination, but she snubbed him and started walking toward the bathroom again. But because Sark was still standing in the doorway, she was going to have to pass him to reach her destination. Yet he stood his ground.

"Move," she said in a deathly quiet tone.

"Not until you let me explain," he countered.

"Move." Sark had never heard one word sound so threatening before. But he held his ground. And when he realised what her reaction would be, he started to regret his stubbornness. She balled up her fist and slugged him in the jaw. He saw stars for a few seconds, before his vision cleared and saw one very pissed-off double agent glowering at him. But still he held firm. And then Sydney took new action. With what sounded remarkably like a growl, she made toshove him out ofher way. Instinct took over for Sark, and he whirled her around until she was pinned between a wall and Sark's remarkably shirtless self. Shetried to push him off her and out of the way, but he was stronger than her, and held her thereeasily.

"Get. Off. Me. Now."

"No. You are going to listen to what I have to say." Sark stood firm, resolved to make her hear him out, at any cost. But she wouldn't have a bar of it, and continued to resist him, looking for an escape. Suddenly Sark snapped, slamming a fist into the wall, exceedingly close to her head. That stopped her struggling for an instant.

"Jesus Christ, Sydney, you really are the most infuriating woman I have ever met." Sark was starting to get angry. "You were in the bathroom for over an hour and a half. I knocked, with no answer. I was banging on the door for a full ten minutes, shouting your name. When I didn't hear your obnoxious voice telling me to bugger off, I assumed the worse. I assumed Dovjenskji had blown out cover and had taken you. I was WORRIED ABOUT YOU, God knows why… I should have left you to drown."

At the end of his rant, he was breathing heavily, winded by his anger. She was looking at him, wide eyed,as if he had sprouted tiny tentacles all over his face, and turned a violent shade of neon orange. They just stood there, pressed against each other, Sydney against the wall, staring in silence, eyes locked in silent battle. Each was waiting for the other to make the first move, to say something. Finally Sark grew sick of waiting on her, and with a growl he grabbed the back of her neck and crushed their lips together in a bruising kiss. There was none of the tenderness of the kiss from the previous night. This kiss was fuelled by all the anger and pent up emotion that was emanating from the two agents. And after the initial shock of it, Sydney reached up and roughly pulled Sark closer, opening her mouth and deepening the kiss. Their tongues battled one another, and their embrace was almost painful, they held each other so tight.

One of Sark's hands ripped open the front of her gown, wanting to feel her hot skin on his own. And he was not disappointed. She wrapped one of her arms around his waist, and pulling him flush to her. In response he grabbed a fistful of her still wet hair, and angled her head back, to gain easier access to her mouth. She complied without question, neither one of them breaking the kiss. They went on like that for what seemed like hours, neither breaking to take a breath. It was only when Sark moved to plant rough kisses down her jawbone and neck that Sydney gasped out, "No, not like this."

Not ceasing his actions Sark managed to reply, "I agree. There is a perfectly good bed within feet." With that, hardly ceasing to kiss her at all, he manoeuvred them so that Sydney felt the base of the bed come into contact with the backs of her legs.That soberedher to their situation, and placing her hands on Sark's naked chest, she pushed him away.

"No, Sark. Stopl." She pulled the front of her robe closed, covering her naked breasts from view. Sark looked at her, his chest heaving, incomprehension etched on his features. Sydney pushed her wildly tangled hair back from her face, sucking in a much needed lungful of air.

She looked at him standing there, saw his longing for her, and felt the ache in her gut as she realised that she felt the same for him. Then a twinge of guilt stabbed her heart as the image of Vaughn's dopey features swam before her. She realised that he was still out there, waiting, longing for her return. But as she stared at the bewildered man before her, she realised that her return to Vaughn would not be the happy reunion that he would expect. She found that all the emotion that she could muster for her handler was fond affection and friendship, nothing more. It seemed that the blonde, arrogant bastard in front of her had stolen her heart. But he could not know this; she would not let it get in the way of the fact that he was evil, and an enemy to the country she so faithfully served.

Sark watched the emotions play across Sydney's flushed features, and he deduced that her abruptly stopping their passionate embrace was caused by one thing. Agent Forehead. Sark cursedthe wanker.She must have remembered that he would be sitting at home, alone, counting the seconds before this golden girl was once again in his arms. A piercing pain in the belly made him take a step back as he realised that he was deeply in love with this vibrant and unique woman, and it wounded him to know that he could never feel his ardour returned. She would never be able to love him as he did her, for he was an evil thing, and evil things must be destroyed. He felt as if he was suffocating, and he stepped back with a small bow of acceptance, before turning and hastily departing the hotel suite, mindless of the fact that he was still clad only in his pyjama pants. All he could think of was escape, not wanting to wound himself further by looking upon the only person that he now wanted. The only person that he couldn't have.

Syd watched his departure with a mixture of feelings. Remorse, sorrow, grief, and a healthy helping of guilt-ridden anxiety. She wandered around the room, in a daze, absently packing her suitcase, finding that missing shoe, even making the bed as she tried to process the events of that morning. As she dressed, she wondered to where Sark had escaped. He couldn't have gone to far, she reckoned, as he was very inappropriately dressed to whether Paris while it was snowing. She deduced that he would still be in the building somewhere. She stood in front of the mirror, about to apply her make up when she caught sight of herself, colour high on her cheeks, hair knotted, and shamed herself for letting herself be drawn into the enigma that was Sark. She berated herself as she began to apply her foundation, subtle eye shadow and lipstick, and swore violently as she stabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand. Blotting it with a tissue, she cursed herself for getting herself into this situation, she cursed Vaughn for insisting she go, and most of all she cursed Arvin Sloane for being a bad guy. Deciding that any more attempts at make up could be detrimental to her health, she quickly slid on some shoes, and grabbing her coat, and one for Sark, she ventured out in search for her partner.

Meanwhile, Sark was berating himself viciously, for being such an idiot as to fall in love with Sydney Bristow. And look where it's gotten me, he cursed, examining his appearance in the mirrored wall of the elevator. He took in his bare chest and feet, crazy hair and woe-begotten expression. Never before had he felt so out of control. It was like he was drowning, with no chance of survival. He didn't know how he was going to explain that one away. All he would think of was putting as much distance between himself and the woman in the hotel suite, until he devised a plan that would enable him to act out their piteous charade for the remaining hours of the mission.

But all that flew from his mind as the elevator doors dinged, signalling their separation. For what he was to see on the other side of the doors was a sight that churned his stomach. It was Dovjenskji. With a rathe maniacal grin marring his features. "It is good to see you, Mr Sark." But that was not the scariest part of it. Not by a long shot.

It was when Karenin came into the picture, and said with a crazy glint in his one good eye, "It would seem that we have something of yours." He then pulled another person into the picture.

It was Sydney, a piece of tape over her mouth and a ticking, nuclear bomb strapped to her chest.

----

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks for all the fantastic reviews. They really helped me to get this chapter out to you this fast. Shout out to my sister, she has been diligently shocking me with a cattle prod in an attempt to hurry this story along. I tried to make the chapter longer, as per many of your requests, and I hope that I've done an all right job for you all.

Review fast and furious, and you may see another chapter before next weekend.


	14. AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hi Guys. Sorry I haven't updated in like EVER!

But I think my reason is valid…

I was turning on my computer to upload the latest (and longest yet) chapter, and as my computer was booting up, an error message came up saying the directory was invalid. AND IT WOULDN'T TURN ON! When I took it to the shop to get it fixed, the guy told me because I had password protected my computer, he couldn't recover any of the files, and I needed to have the whole hard-drive replaced, cause the thing was cactus!

So I don't honestly know when (or even IF) the next chapter will come out.

Thanks for all your great reviews though.


	15. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (IT'S BEEN TOO LONG

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN (IT'S BEEN TOO LONG!):**

A/N: This probably isn't the best of chapters, but I am trying to find way back into the story. I know it was a long wait, and I tried to make this chapter long enough, to try and make up for it!

"_Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next." _

_Lewis Carroll, Alice In Wonderland._

There was an explosion.

Or at least Sark felt there had been one, in the confines of his chest. All at once his heart was being squeezed and pulled apart at the same time. Sydney's eyes were burning in to his, silently screaming. He had known her for years, or at least of her, but this was the first time he had seen real fear on her beautiful face. He could do nothing but stand aside as the two Russian maniacs stepped into the lift with Sark, dragging Sydney in behind them. All the moisture seemed to disappear from the air, Sark's mouth and eyes going bone-dry in a second. He blinked furiously in an attempt to clear his vision, and allow him to see Sydney's pale face. His arms seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, and hung immobile at his sides as Dovjenskji reached out and pushed the button that would take them to the lowest level of the hotel, the basement parking. It was all he could do to remain standing, as he listened to Sydney's erratic breathing, coming fast and panicky.

The lift sank in agonising slowness, the only sound Sydney's laboured breathing and the tinny elevator muzak, stupidly upbeat considering the current situation. Stuck in the slow moving metal box, Sark was able to notice the beginnings of a bruise blossoming around Karenin's remaining eye, and Sark was able to find some perverse pleasure in the fact that Sydney wasn't caught without a fight.

The elevator began to slow, and Karenin moved toward the panel that held the buttons for floor selection. He pulled a pocket knife and prised off the face of the panel. Behind the metal plate there were several colourful wires. Karenin selected two, seemingly at random, stripped the plastic cover away and twisted the two exposed wires together. The lift stopped with a jolt, hung suspended for a second, and then started up with a hum. The floor numbers slipped by on the display above the door until it hit P3, the lowest parking level. But it did not stop. Sark looked once again at Sydney, his heart beating just that little bit faster in his exposed chest, and he realised that he more scared of her being hurt than he was of being hurt himself.

The lift finally dinged to a stop, long after the point where Sark thought it could go no further. The doors slid open and a stark white hallway greeted the passengers. Sark turned to his captors, controlling him without a word or touch, to see what they required of him.

All he saw was an elbow flying toward his face.

Then, darkness.

Sydney could still feel the burn where Dovjenskji ripped the tape from her mouth, a strange pleasure in the pain as she filled her lungs with cold, fresh air. She wasn't sure exactly where she was, but she knew Sark was there with her, somewhere, as she sat in the semi-darkness, shackled to the chair. Her feet were also roughly tied with a thick piece of rope. A deep breath in confirmed the tightness around her chest was the bindings of the explosive. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realised the room they were in had no windows, and only one door. Then she found Sark. He was still unconscious from the violent blow to the head. His prone figure was also shackled, but instead of being granted a chair to sit, his bindings were slung over an exposed pipe near the ceiling, suspending from his raised arms. Sydney guessed that to qualify for a seat, you had to be intimately connected to a deadly incendiary device. Taking another look around the room, Sydney decided there was nothing to do but wait until Sark regains consciousness, and to assess the situation together. So she settled down to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Sydney could wait no longer. She was going crazy. She was tied to a bomb, with no way to know if or when it would detonate. The man she was trying to deny her feelings for was suspended from the roof, wearing nothing more than black, silk pyjama bottoms and chains which, with the passing time, were beginning to look sexier and sexier. It was time for drastic action. And that drastic action included a lot of screaming. Loudly and without pause.

The first thing was the ringing in his ears. The second was the words to _Bohemian Rhapsody_ being screamed at full volume, heedless of rhythm or pitch. The third was darkness that filled the room. The fourth was the knowledge that life was hanging in the balance. The fifth was the knowledge that he was hanging from the ceiling.

Sark, coming back to full awareness thanks to Sydney, took a moment to admire the dire situation he was currently in. It really was quite poetic, the assassin and the spy coming together with the threat of death. But the recent violation to his disarmingly attractive head hurt, and Sydney wasn't helping matters.

"Is that noise strictly necessary?" Sark asked, his cool tone not divulging his true feelings of being hung from the roof like a side of beef. He gave an unconcerned shake to the chains that held him, knowing that they would not budge, but doing it anyway.

"I thought you'd never wake up," Sydney said peevishly.

"I'm sorry if my recent head injury left you without adequate company. It was intolerably rude of me." He could feel the glare that she threw his way, and it left him feeling slightly better about their situation. If she could find the spirit to hate him, then they had a chance of getting out alive. It was then that he realised that he was still clad in nothing but pyjama pants, with nothing on him that could facilitate their escape. He could feel his skin raised in goose bumps, and cursed his impulsive actions of earlier that night, that had caused him to storm out of their room half-dressed. But then he remembered what it was like to kiss Sydney, and he felt he would gladly be bashed in the head a hundred more times just to kiss her again. He felt an extra glimmer of satisfaction to realise that he had just gotten one up on her miserable excuse for a handler. He had kissed Sydney where Vaughn had not. And it was that knowledge that inspired Sark to escape as quickly as possible, if only so he could kiss her again.

"Sydney. What are you wearing?"

"Do you really think now is the time for that? Is there EVER a time for you to ask me that?" Sydney replied peevishly.

"I meant, do you have anything on, that could aid with our escape. But if you want to indulge one of your fantasies, I'd be more than happy to oblige," he snarked back at her.

Sydney thought about the outfit she had thrown on, in her haste to follow after Sark.

"I've got nothing to help, not even a belt. I do have my cell phone, but it's turned off." She studied the room in the half light, trying to find ideas to aid their escape. It was then that she realised that she had pulled her hair back from her face with a clip, when rushing after Sark. But it wasn't just any clip. It was a Marshall classic. The clip had lock picking tools incorporated into the clasp. Now it was just a matter of getting the clip out of her hair and into her hands.

Sydney shifted her weight to her feet and managed to scoot her chair a few inches forward, the chair legs making a terrible scooting sound against the floor. Sark looked up, from his internal reflection.

"Was the noise you were making before insufficient in its damage to my ears?" Sydney scooted the chair again, partially to reach her destination, partially to torture him some more.

"Oh, shut up. I've got a plan."

"And it took its sweet time in arriving too." Sydney made several quick chair scoots at once, and Sark scowled at her. One more big scoot and she was sitting eye level with Sark's bellybutton. His naked belly button. Sydney tried not to think about that as she relayed her plan to Sark.

"I'm going to stand as much as I can. I need you to get the clip out of my hair. Can you reach that far, do you think?" Sydney looked up, into his baby blues, and saw the beginnings of comprehension grow on his face.

"I think I can. It's a good thing these chains aren't secured to the ceiling. Quite an oversight really."

Sydney stood as much as she could, the position made awkward by the chair she was currently tethered to. Sark lifted himself as much as he could, raising one arm fully, to create some slack in the chain, allowing him to bring his other hand closer to Sydney. It was close, but not close enough.

"I can't quite reach. You need to stand higher."

"Maybe you need to reach further."

"Oh honestly, is now really the best time for this?"

Sydney made an annoyed noise, and strained to stand straighter, while Sark reached as far as he could. The tips of his fingers brushed the top of Sydney's head, and he made a small noise of success. He stretched himself to the point of pain, and he could just get his fingertips to the clasp in her hair. He willed himself to extend his arms just millimetres further. He was fumbling at the clasp, not able to get a proper grip on the release of the clasp.

"Tilt your head back. Push up into my hand."

She moved just enough that the pressure from his hand and her head popped the clip open, pulling a fairly sizeable chunk of her hair as is fell. It landed between Sydney's back and the back of the chair, and she was able to wiggle in such a way that the clip fell and landed in the palm of her hand. She looked up in success, and realised that she was in uncomfortable proximity to Sark's silk clad crotch. She wondered why he hadn't made a comment about it, in that dry, British way that he had, and was thankful that he hadn't. Their half-naked encounter in their hotel room was all the intimacy she could handle with Sark for the moment. But as her eyes continued their journey up, over the exposed planes of his chest, the strong column of neck, defined jaw, she felt the sensations begin to grow anew. And when her eyes finally met his, caramel to cerulean, she knew he was feeling it too. And she had to look away, before they both burnt up in the intensity.

Some fiddling with the clip and Sydney had it in a position that she could dig it into the handcuffs that held her prisoner. With a few unsuccessful jabs, most of which stabbed painfully into her wrist, Sydney managed to get the pick into the lock. A few clumsy movements and the lock sprang open, releasing Sydney's wrist with a snap. She felt the cuff, slide from her wrist, and her arms were able to relax. But as she started to bring them around to her front, the door to their prison burst open, bringing a blinding flood of light.

It was Karenin, the milky whiteness of his damaged eye shining in the strange half-light. Syd started to ease her hands back behind her, hoping her captor wouldn't notice the movement and discover their near escape. Sark realised the danger and started pulling angrily on the chains that held him, attracting Karenin's attention, which pleased him. It also earned him a right hook to the point of the jaw. He wasn't so happy about that. But their escape plans weren't discovered, as Karenin went back to the doorway, and with a nasty leer in Sydney's direction, the door slammed shut again. Soon after, the lock clicked back into place.

They both waited, every muscle tensed, until the sound of Karenin's footsteps faded away. Then Sydney moved quickly to extricate them. She pulled her arms from behind her, and pulled the coarse rope from around her legs. Then, without freeing her other wrist she went to work on Sark's cuffs, quickly freeing. He made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as he was lowered his arms, and stretched out his shoulders, stiff from being pulled above him for so long. After they both took a quick moment to stretch stiff muscles, Sark turned to Sydney, glancing from her face to the device around her centre.

"Now, what are we going to do about that?"


End file.
